


Once Was

by danceswithgary



Category: Stargate Atlantis
Genre: Angst, Episode Related, Established Relationship, M/M, Romance
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2010-07-26
Updated: 2010-07-26
Packaged: 2017-10-10 19:50:38
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 991
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/103638
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/danceswithgary/pseuds/danceswithgary
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Isolation had been John's pain-reliever of choice, had kept him dreaming of nothing, until a vivid orange command awakened him with an order to map the stars, shattering his frozen prison.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Once Was

  
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Click for fullsize](http://pics.livejournal.com/danceswithgary/pic/0020e12g)

 

"To the crew of the Aurora."

Uncomfortable, but determined to honor his promise, John keeps his toast as brief as he can without dishonoring the memory of the brave men and women of the lost ship. The champagne fizzes as he swallows, too sweet for his palate, but he still savors the taste and the gentle warmth that settles in his empty stomach. Glasses empty, the group breaks apart after sharing a few more words, scattering to their various duties across the city and the Daedulus.

John retreats to his office, ostensibly to finish his report, but he falters in his typing, recalling more than will be related in the brief of his time inside the Aurora's virtual environment. More, and yet less, because so much had been missing inside the crew's sterile refuge. The cold blue hues had been a pale shadow of the outside world, sounds and touch muted with not even a hint of human scent, let alone a taste of anything real.

Trapped in a half-life, the crew had accepted it as better than oblivion, and John remembers when he too had simply been existing, scraping by at the bottom of the world. He'd lived cocooned in ice-white with frozen memories, content with sky and snow, alone, denying himself comfort. Isolation had been his pain-reliever of choice, had kept him dreaming of nothing, until a vivid orange command awakened him with an order to map the stars, shattering his frozen prison.

Frustrated, John closes his report with a few curt phrases and then roams through his city, refills his senses with its hum and chatter, the scent of the ocean and tired people, a mosaic of stained glass and faces. Hours later, he passes by his quarters to pause before a familiar door, stands there cold and irresolute for only a brief moment before he surrenders his pride and enters.

Rodney is there, rises from behind his desk to ask, "Sheppard? What are you…."

Unwilling to wait for Rodney to finish, John inserts himself inside his space and inhales the acrid scents of hours-old fear and too many cups of coffee, tastes the sour salt gathered just above the collar of his sweat-stained t-shirt. Rodney freezes in place, silent, holding his breath, until John whispers, "I trust you. Never stopped."

He'd sat inside his virtual cell half a day past, as untouchable as the memory of ice a galaxy away, a decision within reach. It would be easier to remain in solitude after the Arcturus debacle, but John knows it's not a zero-sum game and he'll end up losing more than he's willing to pay. Another word slips free, "Please," and Rodney's melting warm against John, his hands rising to span John's waist and pull him close.

His mouth soft against the curve of John's jaw, Rodney murmurs, "Okay. Yes. Of course. I was going to take a shower, clean up because I reek, but Zelenka sent an email and I…."

John dismisses the excuse by cutting Rodney off with a kiss. He's not interested in sanitized; he wants dirty and smelly and rude and _real_. Wasting no more time, he impatiently tugs Rodney's t-shirt over his head, and throws it in the general direction of the hamper, and then he goes for Rodney's BDUs. They're off in seconds with his boxers, Rodney's boots and socks discarded earlier, and John's on his knees with Rodney backed against his desk.

Rodney's scent is heady, dark with a day's worry and work, and John breathes deep in the sweaty crease between Rodney's hip and eager cock, and then tastes with a long swipe along hair-roughened skin, which makes Rodney squirm in protest. John ignores him, too busy weighing Rodney's heavy balls in the cradle of his palm, his mouth and tongue teasing the sleek red-purple tip peeking out from Rodney's foreskin.

"God, John. Bed. The bed would be…fuck…I can't…." Rodney babbles, his hands patting John's head, and John looks up at Rodney's blotchy face and crazy hair and grins, which makes him scowl and complain, "Not funny when I fall over…because my legs won't work…bastard."

Remembering the last time it happened, John sighs and pulls off with a sucking pop, and slowly rises to his feet, making sure to drag his clothes along Rodney's sensitized body. Rodney pinches his nipple in retaliation, although it's less effective than usual through John's shirt. Shoving John out of the way, Rodney staggers to the bed and sprawls across it with a grumbled order. "Lose the clothes."

A few feet are as impossible to bear as miles away, when John's trying to forget the cold blue and past ice. He scrambles out of his clothes in thumps and bumps and a rip or two, detours by the nightstand drawer holding the lube, and then drops down next to Rodney. After opening the bottle, John slicks up his fingers and uses it on himself, multitasking better than the master himself, his mouth and tongue keeping Rodney very interested in the proceedings.

John barely says the words, "Fuck me," and he's flipped to his back, his legs pushed up and out to make room for Rodney. He doesn't have to wait long before Rodney slides home, heavy against John, hot and slick with sweat wherever they touch. Rodney raises enough to touch John's face, looking down at him, his pupils wide above reddened cheeks, and he slides his thumb across John's lips until he sucks it in, rough and salty against his tongue, and John groans at the taste.

It has been too many angry days since they'd last been together, and Rodney shudders, tucks his face into John's neck and loses it, slamming to a halt, pulsing deep. John's hard between them and can't move under Rodney's limp weight, but he's content to wait, because Rodney's broken through John's ice again and John is where he belongs.

 

  
  


**Author's Note:**

> Written for McSheplets Challenge #76: Pre-Atlantis and [BJ Friday Prompt: Hot, Sensual Touch](http://melagan.livejournal.com/207588.html).


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